Time
Monday. 8:30 a.m.
Too hard to get up. I only took half of my my medication the night before so I could manage to
open my eyes when my three alarms went off. That didn’t happen. The thought of rolling over
and getting dressed makes me sick. Instead, I roll over and fall back asleep.
Tuesday. 8:45 a.m.
Again, to hard to get up right away. Instead of hitting the snooze button, I listen to the fairy-like
ringing of my alarm as I stare up at the stars sticking to my ceiling. I can hear my dogs barking at people already up and walking their dogs. My mother says I should do that more, it’ll help. I spend a good portion in bed, barely working on things that need to be done, finding the energy to get up and change my shirt as my mother pulls up in the driveway.
Wednesday. 6:23 a.m.
I wake up before my first alarm rings. I walk quietly to the kitchen and grab a glass of water, washing down my medication as I watch the sunrise. I make coffee for my family and skip breakfast. I feel full without eating, my stomach full of life and warmth. I don’t go to class, I lose track of time redecorating my room then moving everything back, then back again and back how it originally was.
Wednesday 7:33 p.m.
I am laughing and singing as loud as I could without feeling like my lungs were burning. I am jumping on my bed, scaring my dog and making my boyfriend watch me flip off my bed into tricks I learned in dance. I am showing him the dances I choreographed years prior. I am laughing about nothing, laughing at the look on his face when I start laughing, laughing at how I sound laughing.
Thursday 8:45 a.m.
I am 15 minutes early for therapy, feeling good as I sip on a smoothie and wait for my therapist to arrive. When she does, i don’t tell her about how I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror at the beginning of the week because I forgot about how that felt. Instead ramble on about how happy I am because I listened to an old song from high school and it reminded me of the clouds and how the universe is sending me love and all the joy I could ask for.
Thursday 10:00 a.m.
I push the cigarette lighter in my car and wait for it to pop up. It does when I hit a red light and I stare at it, wondering how it would feel. The light turns green and I forget about it. The first thing I do when I get home is go to the bathroom but get distracted by a box of hair dye, so I dyed my hair.
Friday 6:58 p.m.
My parents started ignoring me at the dinner table because I started to repeat the same sentence over and over and over. They used to make fun of me, but now it’s just annoying. I go to bed early.
Too hard to get up. I only took half of my my medication the night before so I could manage to
open my eyes when my three alarms went off. That didn’t happen. The thought of rolling over
and getting dressed makes me sick. Instead, I roll over and fall back asleep.
Tuesday. 8:45 a.m.
Again, to hard to get up right away. Instead of hitting the snooze button, I listen to the fairy-like
ringing of my alarm as I stare up at the stars sticking to my ceiling. I can hear my dogs barking at people already up and walking their dogs. My mother says I should do that more, it’ll help. I spend a good portion in bed, barely working on things that need to be done, finding the energy to get up and change my shirt as my mother pulls up in the driveway.
Wednesday. 6:23 a.m.
I wake up before my first alarm rings. I walk quietly to the kitchen and grab a glass of water, washing down my medication as I watch the sunrise. I make coffee for my family and skip breakfast. I feel full without eating, my stomach full of life and warmth. I don’t go to class, I lose track of time redecorating my room then moving everything back, then back again and back how it originally was.
Wednesday 7:33 p.m.
I am laughing and singing as loud as I could without feeling like my lungs were burning. I am jumping on my bed, scaring my dog and making my boyfriend watch me flip off my bed into tricks I learned in dance. I am showing him the dances I choreographed years prior. I am laughing about nothing, laughing at the look on his face when I start laughing, laughing at how I sound laughing.
Thursday 8:45 a.m.
I am 15 minutes early for therapy, feeling good as I sip on a smoothie and wait for my therapist to arrive. When she does, i don’t tell her about how I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror at the beginning of the week because I forgot about how that felt. Instead ramble on about how happy I am because I listened to an old song from high school and it reminded me of the clouds and how the universe is sending me love and all the joy I could ask for.
Thursday 10:00 a.m.
I push the cigarette lighter in my car and wait for it to pop up. It does when I hit a red light and I stare at it, wondering how it would feel. The light turns green and I forget about it. The first thing I do when I get home is go to the bathroom but get distracted by a box of hair dye, so I dyed my hair.
Friday 6:58 p.m.
My parents started ignoring me at the dinner table because I started to repeat the same sentence over and over and over. They used to make fun of me, but now it’s just annoying. I go to bed early.